Sherlock Holmes and the Smuggler's Wife
by snapshot2000
Summary: When a mysterious woman appears at 221B Baker Street, a whole case unfurls before Holmes' and Watson's very eyes...
1. Chapter 1

**_One_**

**I**t was a normal evening at 221B Baker Street. Outside the window was a raging storm. Holmes was at his desk writing his new book: "The Successful Detectives". I was sat on the sofa, so enhanced by the dancing of the flames in the fire; I was almost asleep until Mrs. Hudson barged in with tea and brandy.

It _was_ a normal evening until the doorbell rang.

"A young lady to see you, Mister Holmes," said Mrs. Hudson

Holmes lit his piped and replied with;

"Show her in Mrs. Hudson,"

I stood up, dusted my trousers off and cleared my throat as the young lady entered the room. She was a very tall lady; slim at the top put not as much at the bottom half of her. She had long, straight black hair with heavy eye makeup. She wore a high neck, long purple dress with lace and ruffles. Holmes eyed her with suspicion.

Mrs. Hudson left us alone and the lady sat down on the sofa.

"So young lady, what's your name and why would you want my help on a night like this?"

The lady looked up at him, her sea-blue eyes staring up into his brown ones.

"My name is Megara Murmour. I…I…I have…." she trailed of and began to cry. I went to comfort her. She took some reassuring but then she gathered herself and carried on. Holmes sat at his desk and made note of the things Mrs. Murmour said.

"I was at home, mourning over a picture of my late husband, he died last week, Mr. Holmes. Then suddenly, I heard a terrible shatter of glass. My maid, Anna, went to see what was happening but was struck down." Mrs. Murmour smoothed down the dress over her stomach.

"This group of men dressed in black took everything, including my clothes. This is the only dress I have left. It happened yesterday and I have been travelling here to see you ever since but the storm has caused chaos everywhere!"

Holmes stood up and puffed on his pipe. He stared at her and his gaze went from the bottom half of her to the top and back again.

"I see. So, er , when are you due?" he asked.

"Due where? I'm not going anywhere," Mrs. Murmour told him.

"We both know what I mean, Mrs. Murmour." Holmes sat in the armchair opposite her.

"I'm lost, Holmes! What _are_ you talking about?" I inquired scratching my head.

"You see Watson, this young lady, if you don't mind me saying, Miss, is with child. So, Miss, when is your baby due to be born?" Holmes replied, looking at me with disgust, then at his pipe as it went out.

"Holmes! You don't think she has gone through enough already?" I exclaimed

"I'm curious, Watson, all detectives are. Surely you should know that by now!" Holmes re-lit his pipe.

"Five more tiring months to go. And I know what you are going to ask now, Mr. Holmes, and the answer is yes. This little one _is_ Henry's child." Mrs. Murmour said, impolitely.

"Is, I mean _was, _Murmour your husband's name or…"

"It's my maiden name; I prefer it to Henry's. It was Barlett." Megara interrupted me. "Any chance of a cup of tea?"

"Of course, Watson ring for Mrs. Hudson." Holmes puffed on his pipe as I did as I was told. "Now, have Scotland Yard investigated this?"

"Yes, but the gang has not been caught yet."

"Would you mind if we investigated it too?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I would mind."

"Can I ask where you are staying at this present moment?"

"At the _Rifle and Pheasant Inn_ in Whitewater, where I live."

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson came in.

"Ah! Mrs. Hudson. Dear Mrs. Hudson," Holmes said alluringly.

"What do you want, Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Hudson asked sternly.

"Please take Miss Murmour here to the spare room where she will sleep for the night. Oh, and please lend her a nightdress of yours and make her a cup of tea. And Mrs. Hudson? Give her a bath, would you? She's very wet."

"Of course, Mr. Holmes. I wasn't expecting you to do it." She said reluctantly and sarcastically and with that, led Miss Murmour into the spare room.

I checked my watch.

"I better be going, Holmes. But I'll be back in the morning."

"Dear fellow, let me ring for a cab!"

I shook my head.

"No no; I will, as long as you give me permission to use your telephone."

"Of course, Watson. I'll see you tomorrow, old chap!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters to do with Sherlock Holmes; all credit to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle!**

* * *

**_Two_**

I arrived at 221B Baker Street at about eight o'clock the next morning and was about to turn my key in the lock when the door flung open and Mrs. Hudson standing there, a feather duster in hand.

"Ah! Dr. Watson!" Mrs. Hudson said almost as she opened the door, almost like she could see through it.

"Mr. Holmes told me to give you this and be quiet, Miss Murmour is still asleep." She slammed the door in my face, and left me with a crumpled bit of paper in my hand. I sat on the steps outside Holmes' house and opened the paper and it read:

_My dear fellow,_

_Meet me at Barlett Manor, Norwich, as soon as you can be here. Take the half past nine train to Norwich from King's Cross and it is a half an hour cab journey from the station._

_Try and find me but don't make much noise, this house is deserted._

_Holmes._

_P.S. Remember your magnifying glass!_

I put it in my pocket and then looked up. A passing taxi stopped outside 221B.

"Are you Dr. J. Watson?" said the driver, looking at a piece crumpled paper like mine.

"I am indeed." I replied, standing up and holding on to my briefcase.

The driver got out and opened the cab door.

"I believe ya wanna go to King's Cross? Or, I think that is wha' Mister. H said…"

"Mr. … oh! Holmes! Yes please! Take me there at once." I said and climbed into the cab.

"My friend, old Jones will be in Norwich at the other end, waitin for you." The cab driver told me, in his Cockney accent from the front of the cab.

"Brilliant," I said, "Don't you think that Holmes is remarkable?" I said to no one in particular.

"Yes, I do." said a voice from beside me.

"Holmes!" exclaimed I. I had only seen his silhouette against the early morning sunlight coming through the cab window. At once I knew it was Holmes as he was wearing a deer stalker hat and smoking his pie. I had thought I recognised that tobacco and I didn't think the cab driver would smoke such a thing!

"That's me." said he, calmly puffing smoke rings from his pipe. "That's me."

It was a pleasant journey to Norwich. No rain; just a blue sky with thin, wispy clouds dotted hither and thither. Most of the train journey was silent. Holmes sat puffing his pipe and writing things in his notebook. I just sat reading my book and trying to make shapes out of the clouds in the sky.

We arrived at the manor a couple of hours later. It was a dreary place. It was dark grey with window frames hanging off one side. The plaque on the gateway was barely readable due to weathering. The door was black and just looked like a gap in the brickwork. The whole house just looked a mess.

We started to walk towards it. I was more reluctant than Holmes but that's because he is more daring than me and as we all know Holmes, he always goes head long into these things. We strolled gently towards the house. Well, I really tiptoed! I suddenly came to a halt when I saw a dark figure emerge from the gaping black mouth of the house.

"Good morning!" Holmes approached the figure not in least as cautiously as me!

"Morning, Mr. Holmes; Dr. Watson." It was Miss Murmour. Her eyes were bloodshot with bags underneath.

"Do excuse my appearance, Mr. Holmes, but I haven't sleeping well; what with the baby on the way and the break in and my husband's death and all!"

"Of course!" said Holmes with a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice, which the young lady hinted.

"It isn't funny, Mr. Holmes." Miss Murmour narrowed her eyes till they only looked like slits made by a very sharp knife. She was still wearing her purple dress and even with just over twenty-four hours of not seeing her, her dress was even dirtier with mud and dust and even a few tears.

"May we have a look around your house, Miss Murmour?" Holmes asked.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes. Step right in," Miss Murmour replied and retreated stealthily into the dark, unlit house becoming one with the shadows.

**Hi reader! Thanks for reading the second part of my ****_Sherlock Holmes and the Suggler's Wife_****. PLease leave review or PM me with suggestions as this is as far as I have got! Thanks! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do nt own** **any of the characters to do with Sherlock Holmes, all credit to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle**

* * *

**_Three_**

**T**he manor was dark and a musty smell hung in the air. There were floorboards loose and the plaster from the ceiling was crumbling. She let the way into the back room. It looked like a lounge but it was poorly decorated. There was a broken fireplace with a shattered mirror above it, two ripped armchairs, a small round table with a photo of a very smartly dressed man on it and then there were tattered curtains party covering two smashed glass doors.

"This is where I was sat," Miss Murmour told us, "When those ruffians broke in. That's the window they smashed."

"Why is there so much other damage?" I inquired.

"The storm did most of it but it has been like that for some time. We only moved back, you see, about two months ago from France where we had been living since the wedding four years ago."

"I see," said Holmes, "I take it this is your late husband?" he asked, picking up the photo f the man.

"Yes, it is," tears choked Miss Murmour's voice, "This house was left to him from his Grandfather. He always hated it. We wanted to come back and fix it then sell it. With the money, he wanted to open a business rather than being a secretary. He wanted to advance in the world but 'flu took him before he had…had the chance!" Miss Murmour choked on even more tears but prevented them falling.

"Still, I am British…I carry on…"

"Evidently…" murmured Holmes under his breath.

Above us, there seemed to be heavy footsteps coming from the room above us. Holmes' eyes darted up to the ceiling.

"Rats," Miss Murmour said, almost immediately. Her eyes were almost as sharp as Holmes'. "We've had quite a few since we came back. I'll go up and check."

"No, no! I will," Holmes argued. "You are in delicate condition, Miss Murmour,"

"Please, Mr. Holmes. This is my house. _I_ shall go and get rid of them." And she swept out of the room and up a battered old spiral staircase that had seen its better days.

"Rats! I bet by best deerstalker there aren't any upstairs. Rats!" Holmes scoffed.

I chuckled under my breath, not wanting to interrupt this serious situation.

**Hey reader! Thanks for reading chapter 3! A short chapter, but sweet (I hope!). Please review and tell me what you think of the story so far! :)**


End file.
